If I Die Without a Home
by shelter
Summary: Stith's caustic take on events that took place both before & after Titan A.E, examining everything from heroes, to romance and the truth. Think of Stith's attempt at her biography & digging up the details. Chapter 10 posted!
1. Intro by Stith Why I Write

  
**If I Die Without a Home**

**Intro by Stith:** **Why I Write this Story**

If you're a writer too, you should know there's a lot of stuff out there that can be classified as good work. And then there's the bad work, those that fall short of the effect that it should have on the reader.

What's my point, you might ask. My point is when we're talking about as broad a subject as the unique history behind the people who formed New Earth, there's always going to be a lot of literature out there talking about who did what and what was what and what happened and all these insignificant details. So you'd better get things right. This is YOUR history, my human friend, not mine. This is the defining character of your culture, the real reason of your feet on solid ground today. Do I even dare to claim that a decade after the events of 3043, the human race has forgotten its past?

Well, I was there on 3043. I watched the planet condense and become reality. I saw the reactions Cale and Akima had. Because I saw it, and because I felt it, I have the right to claim whatever I need to claim for this story to be true. I was part of the struggle which led up to the formation of New Earth in 3043. So I don't need to be objective in my story, because since only four people have access to the truth, you won't know how truthful my truth is until you ask either Cale or Akima or Gune themselves. Sure, they've written enough about the subject for you to look up upon, my human friend. But how do you know if THEY'RE telling the truth?

My point is, you'll have to accept whatever I say, because – by right – I am part of the history of New Earth. Just short of a founding father, but surely one-fourths of the moment when the New Earth became reality on 3043. And because I'm the only other non-human who witnessed it in full, I'm capable of giving all you interested readers out there the MOST reliable and objective story. One not made sentimental by human emotion anyway.

But though that's my point, that's still not my reason in writing this book. I know I have stated my main reason was to commemorate the tenth anniversary of New Earth with some literature to help my human friends understand their history better. But seriously? If you're talking about anniversaries, I have to claim – and this is not boasting because it is a fact – I've been writing more books about the subject since. I write them as much as I love my weapons.

And the part about history? You can get anything to satisfy the stuff you don't already know. Cale and Akima have written their biographies, and have spoken to all you people about it. Gune lectures, he teaches, he instructs and I have to admit he has a broader knowledge of human history than I have. Even more, two human authors have written two books of Cale and Akima's stories before the New Earth in the most objective way possible. And there's the movie you all enjoy, Titan A.E, the crucial reason for New Earth's existence. That movie will tell you more than all the books put together.

But, NO, my human friends, I am writing this book in the sake of the truth. I was there on 3043. And I was there long before it. I can provide everyone with the truth, in the most subjective means possible. I can show what happened in the early years on the _Valkyrie_ in between that gap of time when I went on board and when we found Cale. You watch the movie and all its documentaries, you read Cale's Story and Akima's Story and their biographies, you listen to Gune's lectures. In the end, it's very objective, it's very truthful. Therefore it's history, plain and white history.

But this, my friends, is not objective. It's not going to be nice to listen to; it's not easy to understand. Yet it's the truth. Therefore, it's not history. This, my friends, is fiction. In your face.


	2. Memory

**2. Memory**

Just before I started writing this book, I paid a visit to Akima's. I hadn't seen her for a year before that day. For a solid day we talked about the old days, all our exploits together, all the adventures and ambitions we had, from the _Ronin_ till the _Titan_. We talked about old friends whom we knew were part of this story too, although they're mentioned much less: Mohammed Ishaq, Dhoran, Dall, Rawe, the Gau.

We were plunged into nostalgia. Just simply talking and remembering was enough to make us a bit light in the head. She told me that was very much unlike the crude, hard weapons specialists I am. Well I need a break, don't it? We laughed ourselves stiff about the things we did together on the colonies, and on the _Valkyrie_, and in the first few years of New Earth.

When the moment seemed just right, I asked her about her family and the now. For some reason she quieted down a bit, started sounding serious, and for the first time, I realised how much she has changed. And maybe, even maybe, how much I have too.

So I ask again. And she tells me that the kids are fine. 10-year old Tiamat, 7-year old Bob and the cute 2-year old Miwa. Even I have a thing for little ones, I tell her. And she laughs.

"But don't you feel there's something missing?" she said to me.

I nodded. Our conversation covered the same thing, about the years before New Earth. But we did it in more personal detail. From a feisty girl with so much ambition to a mother of three, she reflected. There was that sad look in her eyes when she said it to me. Not a painful look, but sad. She had dreamt of Earth, she admitted, even as a little girl she had dreamt of it. You could tell.

You could tell because that dream was an ideal, from the cluttered restraint of a drifter colony out into the empty coldness of space and back again to the moist air on Earth, that dream was an ideal, actually blooming out of a dream and into the physical. You could tell because that dream helped her grow up, and it had been battered so badly that all she could do, even now, was grow up; it skipped her childhood, she had no idea how it was like to be a little girl, dreaming of New Earth and the Drej instead of her mother and father and human school and play. You could tell because that dream turned her into a hero, into the figure who was one of the two to inhabit the soul of the planet. You could tell because the dream was an ideal, which was reality.

But it worked well as a dream. Ten years with a home is different. She used to laugh it off as complacency, a sense of selfishness.

Yet she had watched the kids grow up, watched Cale become the leader of the human race seeking to become a civilization once more. It seemed ten years had passed too fast, and in that period, too many things had zoomed by, been lost in the soft, mud of New Earth that should have been realised and captured and not left to fade away at home. She told me her story was starting to sound like a home story, rather than a Titan A.E sequel. There were kids to take care of. A home to run smoothly. No more worlds to explore. No more ships to fly.

I get uncomfortable when people talk like that. So I tried to shift the conversation to something else. I told her I was writing a book. She laughed again, "not enough adventure in your life, Stith?"

I added it was going to be a documentary of sorts, patching up the less glamourous parts in between the years of 3028 and 3043. She looked at me curiously, and said, "well, sure as we know you're not in it for the cash. Who knows? It might be good… you could get another bestseller again."

"You know it's all about our memories, don't you?" she cautioned.

"And people might see it differently than any other story."

You know, don't you?"

I said: "That's a writer's job, isn't it?"

But before I left the following morning, she said again, "you know, you never struck me as any of those writer types. With all your weapons and all that. Never thought writing's your good point. Just don't undercut me in your story, okay?… and don't go overboard with all your comments and speculations…"

I nodded.


	3. Valkyrie

**

* * *

**

**2. Valkyrie**

Let's start where many of you will understand what I'm saying. The _Valkyrie_, the human flagship where both Cale and Akima met, and where the crucial four associated with New Earth's founding are synonymous with: Korso, Preed, Gune and myself.

Korso was the captain. Akima was the pilot. Preed took charge as her co-pilot while Gune was the resident scientist. I, needless to say, have a place in the story as the weapons specialist. Cale was a passenger. Nothing more.

These are the facts. I'm sure you know them very well. I'm guessing the last paragraph wasn't even necessary. But facts belong to history. Let me show you what the _Valkyrie_ really is.

The _Valkyrie_. Built maybe in 3030. Before Korso christened her with the name, she was a standard pursuit craft, probably part of the fleet of a rich alien merchant. They would have called her the _Syraina_, or the _Othos_, or some other fanciful name like that. But no, she wouldn't have it. She was a beauty, a ship among the fleets, and would one day catch the eye of a young Korso desperate for a craft.

It was love at first sight. She loved Korso. And she loved him. She was his first love. But she was still under the authority, still subject to that rich alien merchant who had an unusual fetish for large powerful ships and human slaves. Still, Korso would do anything to catch her eye, even though this sometimes included theft and murder. He couldn't take his eyes off her, parked in a hangar in a distant planet faraway inhabited by aliens who yet didn't understand the extent of human infatuation.

So on dark and cloudy night, the renegade Korso stole the ship. He probably killed two alien guards for it. There was a shootout because he was never the quiet type, and once it ended he limped onto the ship to make his getaway. For the first few moments as he stood at the helm, at the pilot's cabin he embraced her, and with his hands, stroked her gear and console with his sweaty hands, like a couple deep in romance. And she opened up to him, revealed to him her darkest secrets and hidden beauty. And in the dark of the night, they explored the universe together, with Korso at the helm and she responding to his every desire.

But the rich alien merchant wasn't happy. He didn't like being stood up to and he had both the money and the resources to do the same to Korso. So he himself set out with a fleet of his own to recapture the beauty of his hangars, the _Syraina_, or the _Othos_, with a dozen of his best pilots and a dozen of his best mercenaries. His orders were very simple: get back the _Syraina_, or the _Othos_, and kill the human.

Korso knew. And she knew. And they both knew they had to settle this once and for all. She didn't want to be dressed up and presented like a trophy in a hangar, and for sure he didn't want to die. So they confronted the rich alien merchant. In a space dogfight, they finished him off. His mercenaries and pilots didn't even manage to storm her before they were blown to pieces by her superb weapons. The rich alien merchant had no choice but to concede defeat, leaving her in the hands of that filthy human renegade. As he turned to leave, defeated, Korso pumped his ship with her weaponry, and destroyed him.

Korso christened her the _Valkyrie_. Norsemen, an old human society, believed maidens of their great god Odin would take slain warriors to dine in Valhalla forever in glory as part of their culture. These maidens were Valkyries. Her name was not any dirty alien syllable. She was the _Valkyrie_.

* * *

I'd like to think the _Valkyrie_ and Korso were related in such a way. But that's an ideal. And the truth is more likely that Korso bought the _Valkyrie_ because she was a bulky piece of junk even normal alien pilots found hard to handle – at a bargain counter. Korso probably didn't even know what _Valkyrie_ meant. He didn't care about Odin, or Norsemen, or any part of human culture. He just thought it was a cool name.

The purpose of the illustration is to dispel all the idealisms you might have about the subject. It won't do you any good. Korso, Cale and Akima weren't heroes. But many other aspects, they weren't even normal human beings, so it won't help you if you read on with such a fixed idea in your head.

The problem with idealism and such romantic notions is their crippling power on the story. Say, if the movie had been narrated by an alien instead of a human, half of the things you'd see there won't be present. Idealisms cover up the truth. As you can see in the illustration they were clichéd and strained. But we need some measure of idealism, to see the story the exact way Korso, Cale and Akima felt it. But onto the story. It's not yet over.

* * *

So they loved each other, the _Valkyrie_ and Korso. They flew the heavens together, made raids and were partners in Korso's drive for identity and purpose and wealth.

But, like all relationships, things tend to go wrong when one person wants it all his way. The _Valkyrie_ helped Korso gain respect and money, but he wanted much more than drifter colony rags and plunder from alien merchants. He was after the _Titan_ itself. He had another love. It obsessed him. It was one-part dream, one-part illusion, three-tenths something very real and perhaps six-tenths the way out of his self poverty. He pursued every hint of it, and willed both her and himself across the galaxy to seek it out.

Korso pushed her, like a deranged lover, he pushed her to the edge of the universe and back to satisfy his longings, his immaterial, always hungry desires. He still looted and killed – but not for her anymore. She was the bulky piece of spaceyard vessel he was beginning to get annoyed with. She only fit in the scheme of his desires when she was hot, purring and aroused to full warp speed – and then he would shut her off and leave her all lonely as he hunted for his treasure.

The _Valkyrie_ didn't like it. She put up with it for a while. Then she, like an upset lover, hit back. Korso would have woken up one day suddenly feeling the ship was heavier, her flight less smooth, her ports rusting, the air locks inefficient and, above all, she was beginning to get slow and sluggish under his one-man piloting. He would have difficulty docking, making clean getaways and maybe once or twice would have nearly been captured by the Drej.

The _Valkyrie_ was crying to Korso. She couldn't be pushed to such a limit. She wanted him to love her like it was before.

But Korso did the opposite. He hired a co-pilot. Preed arrived, and now the _Valkyrie_ was not all Korso's anymore. She belonged to another man, who would stroke her engines and pump her with warp drive frequencies. She felt violated. But Preed, who was every bit as ambitious – or in some sense even more – than Korso, was here to stay.

The _Valkyrie_ soon learnt to accept new people. As Korso's search for the one-and-only map tightened, the _Valkyrie_ saw visitors on board. They were mostly alien species, with a few humans. And then there were those conversations Korso had in the dark room behind closed doors with that special person who was hidden even from the _Valkyrie_'s knowledge. Korso would talk for long hours, sometimes shouting, other times being shouted at, to this mysterious person who would never come on board, but who could only be seen through a closed door and a dark room.

Then Gune arrived. The _Valkyrie _probablyliked him quite a lot. Korso must've had a good turn, because with Gune came some scientific equipment the _Valkyrie_ had never seen before. He was now her resident scientist on board the long journeys into space, the radical inventor of quantum things and scientifically weird stuff. She was curious at his apparent lunacy, although his knowledge of the stars and heavens impressed her. He seemed to know more places than the _Valkyrie_ herself; he professed to be a professor of the universe. Korso and Preed were amused by him too, but he seemed distant, excluded from the two surly, bent-shouldered warriors who ran the pilot's cabin. Gune stayed in his lab.

A day came when the _Valkyrie_'s life would change forever. One day, docking at New Houston colony, Korso and Preed and Gune were gone longer than usual. When they returned, two strangers boarded her, and stayed on board for good. They were different from Korso and Preed and Gune in every way, the _Valkyrie_ noticed, totally incompatible with their loud masculinity and sense of achievement. These two strangers were close, and had one thing Korso and Preed and Gune lacked: sheer grit. They had determination no doubt, but the _Valkyrie_ realised anyone could have determination. These two strangers had a drive, not motivated by any material longings she had seen in both Korso and Preed, but burning from an inner source, so deep she couldn't even see it. One of them was myself. I took to making the _Valkyrie _armed and dangerous, to defend herself. The other was Akima.

She was the _Valkyrie_'s new pilot. Unlike Korso and Preed, who seemed to handle the _Valkyrie_ like it was a mere metal machine, Akima took to her in a different way. She loved flying, and she loved the thrill of it. When she first stepped to helm, she read every singe instrument with a gaze, took in the controls with a breath. By the time she had put the controls into the delicately experienced clefts of her fingers, the _Valkyrie_ knew she was in the arms of her saviour. Akima moved as though she was flying – a gentle, almost effortless twist of her hands whenever she was in charge. She had a presence. The _Valkyrie_ enjoyed that.

So for 5 months Akima took control. Of course the _Valkyrie_ knew she took orders from that Korso, and got picked upon by that Preed. But she knew she could handle it. And Akima did, while dodging mercenaries, looting from merchants and outrunning Drej stingers. The _Valkyrie_ soon obtained the reputation of being the coolest, most defiant vessel in the system, piloted by a former human commander, his hardcore crew and this feisty female pilot. For the _Valkyrie_, the reputation brought her a quiet fame she flashed at each docking bay she entered – she was not just the valkyrie, she was **the** _Valkyrie_.

Then after another stop at some dingy station which she found quite appalling, and another routine shootout with several Drej, there was someone else on board. Now this guy – he was weird. Unlike the crew, he did nothing; just ate and slept and walked around trying to pass some smart remarks which didn't really get anywhere. He was a passenger, an extra weight to be brought across space. The _Valkyrie _liked him less than Preed. Worse, not only did Korso and Preed treat him like a friend, this salvage colony trashman was coming onto Akima.

By now the _Valkyrie_ had lost all romantic illusions which she had started out with. Korso, her first love, was becoming more unstable, and this showed, too clearly, to her when he lost Akima and that Cale guy to the Drej. She had seen it coming. Now without Akima, she was just a ship, without a name, missing her close friend and lacking that presence. Something was up with Korso.

And when Korso tried to blow Akima and that Cale guy out of the sky in that icy system, the _Valkyrie_ knew Korso was gone. His greed had blow his character to shreds. The _Valkyrie_ was now the centre of the betrayal, death and double-crossing Korso had initiated. She fought for her life, and blew Drej stingers into shreds to get Akima, or any bit of that lost life, to return.

But when she glanced by as the powerful Drej dissipated, the _Valkyrie_ didn't blink at all. She felt more devastated that Akima and that Cale guy were now the pilots of another ship, the _Titan_, the vessel of vessels, the soul of both machinery and humanity. And she was there, witnessing from afar off (like I did) the _Titan_ construct the new Earth from nothingness. From the space in between, from the void of ice. With Akima and that Cale guy with the _Titan, _the _Valkyrie_ temporarily passed itself on into the leadership of a third pilot.

Me.

And as I stood at its deck, skimming across the waters upon the face of the deep of new Earth, holding onto those controls as did Korso, Akima and Cale did, I knew the _Valkyrie_ understood – and I with it – that its time had come. For it to finally give up its adventurous, wild ways and to settle into the life of regularity with the desire of all its three former pilots fulfilled. And because I don't stand much for flying either.

So you might ask: where is the famous _Valkyrie_ now? The ship on which perhaps the three greatest pioneers in the human race (a traitor, a salvager, a drifter colony orphan) took control of; the one which had the greatest opportunity to oversee the Drej's end and the new Earth's beginning; the one who was the first ship in decades to experience the gravity of a place humans could call their own; the mighty vessel which shared the honours, drove the handsome couple of Akima and Cale away on their wedding day; the work of an engineer's art, that braced heaven and hell till this day.

Well, you might find this hard to believe but this is true. True fact.

The _Valkyrie_ is now a sideshow attraction at Burnin' Bob's Traditional Circuses – it's a company running shows at Flint City for your information, specializing in the "reenactment of the epic battle for New Earth" show (live & with real effects!) The _Valkyrie _is a stage prop, driven by an actor once a night, to interested audiences. Once a year, it participates in the local parade.

I guess that's better treatment than the _Titan_ got. It graces the site where it first landed on new Earth. It's now shantytown. That place is also known as Drabchapel.

* * *

Ok, so like all good and classic writers, I ask you: what's the moral of the story. 

The moral is the truth. And the truth is, heroes are forgotten, lives are wasted, ships rust, memories fade, glory is cheapened, victory one day is a backache the next, victors are alienated, humans don't care – and the biggest moral of all – truth hurts.

A lot. Akima can tell you.

Or even better: there's no such thing as a bloody moral in the first place.


	4. Perspective

**3. Perspective**

A lot of times it's just a matter of perspective.

The story of the _Valkyrie_ is my example. I chose to cheapen it, not elevate it. My reason? Because it is the central setting of my story, because it is where all the rest of my story finds its meaning. Whenever you read the next few chapters till the end of my book, you'll be left with that uneasy thought: the _Valkyrie_ doesn't really exist anymore, or try to imagine me strolling through the main hold, opening up the ports –to a circus crowd. And it'll stay with you.

Truth is, we all have become just like that. I won't dwell on this too long though, because you'll either get tired of my repetition or will miss the details of the story. My storytelling's not so much making sure you believe than it is trying to push the truth to you. We are all like this.

And some of us had become like that even before we even stepped on board the _Valkyrie_.

There's a reason why the two books with so-called narrated Cale and Akima's stories were released after New Earth was founded. There's also a reason as to why the movie left a gap of about three-and-a-half weeks between Cale's coming on board and our discovery of the _Titan_. Most people would just think: unimportant, drab, dull, not relevant to the story.

True, true. Quite a good guess. Still you've got to understand what stories these two books – and the movie – were trying to get at. All were pro-human in a sense. Ok, put less harshly, they were meant for one single, solid purpose: to show human courage, human determination, human hope, human triumph over the Drej…

And also one other thing that really bugs me: human cooperation.

My take at it is that humans don't like being told the truth, and when I say that the many, many scenes of Korso helping Cale, or how humans seemed to help any wounded person who showed up at a drifter colony are not quite true, I'm sure I'm making some people a little unsettled. But as I said, it's all a matter of perspective. The two independent writers who wrote Cale and Akima's story didn't need to show all these, they didn't need to show Cale's problems, or Akima's problems, or my problems. They thought it would be nice to look at the two greatest humans since New Earth's founding as close to saintly heroes.

Likewise that director who did the film tended to collapse everything into action and romance, so that it seemed after we rescued Cale, he got captured again, and we rescued him again, and then he got betrayed, and then he fought Korso, then the Drej, then won, and then New Earth got formed.

The film was good. But it glosses over too much time that I feel it's not telling the real truth.

And that's why I'm here for that reason.

So just remember: it's all about perspective. If you don't like what you see, there's always a hundred other writers there trying to turn the story into a nice mellow romantic piece of so-called fanfiction for people to stomach more easily. Or if that's still not enough for you, there're a hundred more writers trying to distract us with stories of people who lived before or way after New Earth. I know they're not all trying to hide the truth. But it helps I'm the only one trying to show it.

The truth seems to touch you where the other story doesn't. More towards the stomach, a bad, sick feeling which causes a mild indigestion. Because likewise, I do gloss over some truthful details I deem unnecessary to the purpose of my story. They happened, but I don't find them relevant, so you won't be hearing much about things like the _Titan_, or Cale and Akima's love story, or their children or whatever. This omission, is to take out the fact which makes truth less true, and to add in the fiction which makes the truth truer than it is.

So remember it's all about perspective.


	5. Bullets

**4. Bullets**

This is one story I've kept inside for quite a number of years. It's not out of embarrassment to reveal it, more like finding the right time so it wouldn't be seen as completely embarrassing. I haven't even told this one to Akima, and when I wrote my first few books, I thought I'd kindly just leave this portion out and write the story around it.

Some people, those who've read my first book, Back Across the Galaxy, know I was born and raised on Solbrecht. And those of you who've read Akima's Story as a prelude to the events leading up to the founding of New Earth know I left Solbrecht with Akima and Ishaq when I had the chance. The authors of Akima's Story don't really say why I left Solbrecht with a pair of young humans I barely knew, although it tried to hint of my status as an outlaw on the planet and the trouble I had with a lot of people.

Fair enough, but it does paint me as being too much of a good Samaritan and too little of the actual truth.

I was born on Solbrecht, that's a fact. But I the problem was I never knew who my real parents were. I had heard from people close to me how they came, stayed and left – and left behind me, but I don't believe them. I don't think I was unwanted. Or that's what I'd like to believe. It doesn't help doing business on Solbrecht telling clients you're a bastard daughter. That can be as bad as telling them you're human.

So I grew up in the Mantrin community on Solbrecht, where – and this is perhaps a little to sentimental – I developed this love for guns and weaponry. A lot of you might speculate how it happened; well, this was the venue: a rundown neighbourhood, bad streets outside and a lot of guns lying around.

But I'm not going to talk about that; I'd reserve this for a gun lovers' biography another time when I have the patience. I'm here to talk about the business that I ran, and the two close partners who helped me out: Ryhal and Hafrai.

Talking about my business is sentimental, and nostalgic, and so I do beg your forgiveness if I do ramble away into bullshit. Ryhal and I had an office where this Hafrai guy was official resident. Hafrai got me lots of big people who were very keen on the Mantrin-style of gun collecting. Ryhal was my partner (but strictly business), and he was also involved in the military.

Now you already know I specialised in the unique, the hard-to-get and the plain destructive, that was my side of the business, and it was all meet client-see weapon-settle deal stuff. It might sound boring but it was profitable. Now Ryhal, on the other hand, was more – how do I put it – more outdoors. He was less the collector, more the action man.

He ran a store selling guns just outside the office.

Now I'm not quite proud of this, because to me the pleasure doesn't come from the money or definitely not the killing. It comes from the knowledge you've got a fine piece of work in your hands, a sculptured weapon. I wasn't like Ryhal; his days in the military had made him a bit of a daredevil, and he used to laugh at my treating some expensive specimens like works of art. To him, guns were guns, and guns kill, and because people in Solbrecht like to kill, there was a market for them. I wasn't like this. I wasn't like Ryhal and his callous attitude towards life. He was in it for the money. At least I was looking, and I was always open to barter. I wasn't anything like the chain-smoking, bloodthirsty thrill-seeker he was (well, thrill-seeker maybe). But he had the capital, and we had a deal. He had the funds, I had the connections.

So Ryhal and I were business partners. Then there's this Hafrai. If Hafrai doesn't sound too Mantrin, you've guessed it right; he was a Solbrecht native, four-arms and all. He was my contact to the big buyers and sellers. He was nothing more than our accountant.

So why is he so important? He introduced me to Golbus.

* * *

Akima's Story will tell you my first few deals with Golbus were peaceful and legal. But it fails to tell you I didn't know I was doing business with him in the first place. That leech had so many franchises, and "businesses" that buying a drink could be a contribution to the Golbus cause.

But Hafrai came to me one day with a very interesting proposition which somewhat altered things a bit.

"Big fellow, with big bucks," he told me from his memo. "He's interested in buying a lot of the 'special' items in our stock, Stith."

"Do you know much about this Golbus guy? I just know he's some local tycoon."

"Him? Oh he's more than that! He's going to become the largest arms-supplier on the planet."

Throwing in our proposal with someone with such power was a very enticing idea. But it was stupid enough to doubt, and so Hafrai arranged a meeting between us. A one-on-one conference.

Now you already know the rest. So it'll be quite pointless for me to give you the details of that conference. But just to summarize, Golbus made me a deal I couldn't refuse; no, he made me the deal which would've made me a fortune but left me with no business. He wanted to buy up every single specimen – rare, unique and collectors' item – of my stock, which would've made me rich. Just that there was one small problem. He wanted Ryhal's share too, the common arms and street weapons, at a discount. Why? His excuse couldn't have been any more lame:

"You sell them to me. I protect you from anything that tries to hurt you."

Ryhal wouldn't have submitted to Golbus. And anyway I didn't have his permission. The thought of selling away all was tempting, but it felt – cheap. I wasn't a businessman like him. I was a collector, and I don't suppose it would help telling you the passion it takes being one.

So I refused the deal. Golbus didn't look happy. And he went on his killing spree.

* * *

I can always remember the day I lost everything. Not because I want to, but it seems to coincide with a human celebration here on New Earth called the New Year. On the day when it happened, the human members of Zechaat, however few, had lit up several streets near my office with sparklers and crackers.

Against this atmosphere I was in the office working of course, with Hafrai. There were noises of crackers and shouts. One landed through the window and right in front of Hafrai.

It blew him open.

Contrary to popular belief, a shootout is not always action-packed and full of brave moves and cool sharp-shooting. At least on that day, it was sloppy and chaotic, and – afraid to say – my first response was to dive under for cover. Now reflecting carefully on these first few seconds, I suppose the shell which killed Hafrai stunned me seriously. I can remember looking at the weapon I was working on, followed by a blotch of light. I can remember: my mind was on fire. This had taken me totally by surprise, and I can't take surprises very well. My head hurt a lot. It was probably shrapnel.

In the haze of a hundred brilliant colours of shots smashing at me, I heard a lot of commotion, but distinctly, Ryhal and his very violent resistance. He had probably seen the first shot and was now returning fire. I wanted to help him, but I remember my head hurt terribly from the first shatter of glass onwards. I couldn't even see Hafrai clearly, who was right in front of me. Clearly blown across.

I paid dearly for these moments of disorientation. By the time I had gotten my hands to the weapon the attackers were all over the office. As I pressed the trigger the weapon shook so far and began firing such weird projectiles that my head hurt even more. Then my hands began to burn. With a shock, I saw used bullets falling onto my wrist and arm, hot from being used, leaving little scab marks in on them.

I don't remember if I had caught any of them. But there was another enormous crack – my head felt like a guillotine had leapt into my skull – and my already uncertain vision was smothered by a whip of dust and rubble. Shots were hitting the walls behind me, but Ryhal was still alive – I knew it somehow – because I just knew it. I can remember falling to the side, showered in used ammunition, my weapon's cackle still going off…

I don't remember how long I was like that, or how long Ryhal had held out. But my next memory is of the open door of light at where the glass of my office used to be. I staggered to this light, the glow of the world and the wall I knew would not prevent me from going forward. I've never seen any brighter light than this opening ever since – and probably will never. I loosened my hold on the weapon. It clattered onto the ground. It was empty. I saw my right arm before me, groping towards the light – the hot cuts on it every bit visible as before.

I don't remember much. But I waited as the light drew nearer, a hollow bloom of whiteness so thick I couldn't see who or what waited for me at the other end. It must admit it would've looked really stupid: me standing almost hypnotized by this light, unconcerned on whether I would be shot down if I had ventured out. But as I waited by the light, I could remember almost splitting, random images just flashing through my head (which still hurt a lot). It was like someone was playing me a video, with background music slowly following each image after image.

I saw Hafrai slouched against his chair, his four arms furthest apart than I've ever seen them. I saw a haze of smoke, debris scattering in every single direction, and another image of the street outside, calm and deserted. Then I saw Ryhal splattered against his shop's wall, his huge figure roasted to it with heat from the shots -

I let out a small cry. Like a mental scream, but I could not hold it for long because the pain came back to my head. Maybe my head had melted too.

And from then on, images just flew straight across me, as chaotic and as random as ever. I saw Golbus grinning, standing out there on the street looking into my razed office, then Akima was with him, her head tilted sideways with her look of indifference. Standing beside her was Ishaq, silent and contemplating. Silhouetted behind them was the entire crew of the _Valkyrie_, smiling and waving and gesturing towards me to join them. With them were other people: Dall, Ryhal, Hafrai and hundreds of others I had never seen before, all cheering and waving amidst the burst of crackers and fireworks lit alight to celebrate new year.

I watched with a silent awe, not knowing what to make of this. But as I tried to move forward, the light condensed, so that it had become all dark again, and the people disappeared into the cold street. I stumbled out onto the pavement, out from my destroyed office and yelled.

One long shriek. It felt like a mental gunfight had blown from my emotions at the moment into a barrage of explosions in my mind. Till my head hurt so much I had to collapse.

A friend of mine, Jemfuh, found me later. I had been missing for several days he told me, and everyone expected me to be dead. It was from him I got the clear picture of what happened, unreliable as he is: Golbus had hired mercenaries to destroy my office. They began their attack by launching a shell through the window; it was targeted at me, but it went off right in front of Hafrai, and the explosion probably knocked me out. Ryhal was returning fire, and a short brief gunfight broke out between Golbus' mercenaries and Ryhal with his stocks of weapons. Meanwhile, some of the attackers stormed the office to finish me off, but two were hit by heavy metal projectiles and retreated. They thought they were taking in friendly fire. But Ryhal, who had been fighting all the while, was shot through, at least ten times (as Jemfuh claims). He was brave (again Jemfuh claims this), but stood no chance.

You know I don't want to admit it but I _cried_. I don't quite remember what for. It wasn't for my business, and it certainly wasn't for Ryhal or Hafrai. I wasn't sad about the loss, I was upset because of the pure helplessness I felt, and the heavy stupidity of actually being hit on the head and defeated in a gunfight, my speciality.

I think this was the closest I came – and will ever come – to death. It hit me quite hard actually; trying to picture myself, clumsily lumbering around and blind because of my head, all those shots edging away from me, made me feel worse. I grew sick of that image, which tends to come back to me sometimes.

I hated that weak feeling, this helplessness. I know I didn't weep at either two of my friends' gruesome deaths, but the sting from being unable to prevent them added to the sense of vulnerability, of being to reliable on something.

In this case, it was my judgment and my choices led me to Golbus, who caused all this shit. And, in a way it was also on Ryhal, whose holding out longer than expected probably saved my life.

So from that day on, my life as a wanderer began. I didn't want to be held back, or to meddle so much with something till it became as complicated as with Golbus. As far as I was concerned from the time I stepped out of Jemfuh's shop I was a new Stith. Not the old one – she died in that gunfight – this was the new Stith, the one riddled in the head by too many bullets. I wanted to start without blood and get out of Solbrecht.

The book tells you that I gave Akima a chance by helping Ishaq. Not quite. We gave each other a chance. And I made a deal that I follow her and watch her. Golbus would've killed me if I stayed anyway.

The three of us made good on our ditching Solbrecht. For a while it felt good, and then later as this feeling wore away, I clouded it with the resolve Akima had in finding a human home and the _Titan_. Well, we finished that didn't we? And like Akima, perhaps I've also discovered after your purpose is done, you become obsolete and worthless and forgotten.

This is not about my part in the struggle for New Earth. This is about my greatest fear and most guilty witness. I'm sure you're like me too: your most elaborate feelings of being helpless don't come when you're fighting Drej or trying to help save the human race. They come when you're all alone and neglected and bored to shit. Now, 10 years after New Earth was formed, I think my life has shrunk to a keyboard and a notepad – and these desperate feelings tend to hit me often.

There is me: helpless, sitting in a chair and writing a novel; and me, watching Drej ships pound the _Titan_ but having no more defenses to stop them; and me, lumbering around in the dust of a firefight; and me, as a youngster hiding from older Mantrins in the dark of a street corner; and me, crying for mummy and daddy.

I don't like sharing this. I think the reason is obvious: I'm digging deep, blowing the shit out of my mind. True, I'd like to be seen as the weapons specialist, the hard talker, the heavy support person, a compliment to Akima and Ishaq and, I suppose, a person present at the founding of New Earth (an honour no doubt) and at-all-times-cynical.

But I think, rightfully, I should be called a coward. Outside of me I've built all this up for myself: the new Stith, the _Titan A.E_ Stith. But somehow inside, on quiet, thoughtful moments, the old Stith is still alive after that gunfight. And she still is stumbling around in a hail of bullets.


	6. The Dealer

**5. The Dealer**

Enough about me. Let's dish the shit on someone else.

In my last story I told you about a friend of mine, Jemfuh. In Akima's Story, you probably know him as the kind, friendly weapons dealer who helped tend to Ishaq's injuries. Perhaps my description of him in the last chapter helped this exaggeration too; after all, he hid me from Golbus and kept me alive till I found a way out, right?

Well, that's still pretty true, but Akima's Story does very conveniently omit several things about this friendly local weapons dealer. Truth is, I knew slightly more about his connections. Of course, he made me promise not to tell anyone when I started writing my first book, but now that he's dead, I don't think it'll make any difference.

Jemfuh was, on all accounts, your typical Solbrecht native: four-arms into business and trade, very open about his work, shrewd, stingy, ruthless in the market… So far so good right? I mean, he sounds like any typical human trader at the stock markets today. But unlike most of those on Solbrecht, Jemfuh had another trait: he had a weird human fetish. You'd probably be able to relate why he was so helpful with Akima and Ishaq, especially while being surrounded by human-haters like Golbus all around.

But unfortunately for Jemfuh, this little obsession never really got a chance to release itself. From the time I met him, he had never been interested in anyone of his so-called race. Instead, he seemed a bit too preoccupied with the prospect of allowing slave trading in humans to be legalized on the planet. For some insane reason, he desired to have a human close by in everything he did.

You must think I'm talking bullshit. A fetish for humans? There's no such shit in the universe. Especially since everyone around hates humans to the core. And especially not in Solbrecht.

Sure, your arguments are true. But this is a dive into the biggest twists of a pre-New Earth environment, when humans were either vilified or subject to such 'curiosity'. Jemfuh sometimes asked passing humans in the neighbourhood whether they wanted to work of him. Thankfully none did. And frankly speaking, I did think this all was complete and utter rubbish, this obsession of his, but I wasn't the one to tell him.

The real challenge came when Akima and Ishaq showed up injured at his shop. He definitely had no objections about tending to them; I believe he may he gotten a kick or two out of it. I feared he would go slightly out of control with them when they weren't conscious. But with me around, in clear disapproval, he wouldn't dare..

But I could see the hungry look in his eyes when he eyed Akima, and the thirsty thrill whenever he had to draw blood to heal Ishaq's wounds.

For all the entire short one-and-a-half days where Akima and Ishaq were in his company, he didn't do anything. And all the time, he acted as normal as I expected him to be: talking when talked to, polite and always helping Ishaq around. Then something just snapped. I can remember it very clearly, and if you don't believe it, don't, because I didn't believe it when I first saw it either.

As Akima went to see Ishaq's wounds for at least the tenth time, Jemfuh slid one of his four arms to the seat of her leather jeans and groped her bum.

And you know how Akima reacted? She went all red in the face and whacked poor Jemfuh with one of her legs, and caught him square in the face.

I didn't forgive Jemfuh that easily either. Because if I can remember the thrashing I gave him, it made a big mess out of his shop. But he had helped us, and so we stopped short of doing too much harm to him, instead just leaving him there. No humans. No more capital from me.

So what happened to Jemfuh? The last I heard, he was one of the few traders who dared come to New Earth to open their businesses. Of course, it would've been more of a pleasure for him rather than a chore. But I heard he was killed in the departmental store riots a few years ago; after what happened on Solbrecht, I had never spoken to him again, so this is really all I can say.

He was a good guy. Just a bit screwed up.


	7. Fact

**7. Fact**

_Ronin_ (Japanese) – literally, "wave men". Samurai with no acknowledge master and thus unemployed.

This is the detail and background of the famous men which Akima named her first ship under. They were displaced warriors, having their lord's territory confiscated or annexed by greater powers. Masterless, they acted in certain situations, as a kind of local knight, honourable to defend the public from oppression and heeding solely the valour of his cause and the draw of adventure.

At the same time, men without masters have been known to turn foul. Sometimes, these men were renegades, interfering with the daily law of the land and notoriously known for pushing the common people around.

This is fact. Historical and cultural fact – the passing down of wisdom from the hundreds of people of Akima's Kunimoto family till finally, it appeared on the name of a ship which would ferry me and Akima across several hundred worlds in a few years.

Let's look at some more interesting facts I'll need to tell the story.

**Fact:** Ishaq smokes. His father had spent his entire childhood smoking _sishas_ in front of him. They had one in their home – an Arab tradition, passed down for centuries, an idle pastime. But Ishaq didn't smoke them. He smokes _keralas_, black cigarettes, _hulfars_, D'armaran sticks and surfheads. One for each of the systems he's found pieces of Earth's cultural relics in.

When I met him on his second visit to New Earth, he was smoking his favourite – a three-inch thin brown stick of a _kerala_ – as we sat down to talk. The smoke had rimmed his face; as he walked the wind blew the smoke away from clouding his face and touching any part of his still-youthful smile, so that he looked miserably cool, with cigarette smoke always going where he wanted it to. In fact, he was still smoking when he told me the truth about this guy called Ishaq, not knowing three years later, I'd be writing about it in a book.

"Tell me Stith, is this smoke bothering you?"

**Fact: **Ishaq has seen a lot – and the Qu'utians were not as friendly as we always think they are.

"First thing I'm on the planet and what do they do? They argue with me, telling me where to put all the cultural artifacts in this place, in that place. And I, being so naïve back then, can only agree to settle in this sub-standard facility that's so fucking run down that there're holes in the roof.

"So for the first time in my life, I actually exercise my courage without Akima around. I confront the caretaker and say to him, 'fuck you. You'd better give me another place or get the holes fixed or I'll screw your Qu'utian ass with my cargo hauler, 'cos I'm under your friend Dhornan's protection'. And he starts getting serious. So I feel quite good about it."

It seems the words that Ishaq uses to describe all his stories are strapped heavy with fact – all plain, irreversibly stained truth that allows him to be more than a boy in spite of his face (which is still young after all these years).

It's not only how incredibly ridiculous the way he tells it, but when he tells you his stories, you get that feeling, that he's actually telling the damn, plain truth.

Truth in fiction – now that's a new one even for me.

**Fiction: **Ishaq tells a story of one of his meetings with Dhorhan. While Ishaq was essentially a free agent going about his own business in the system, I presume they met occasionally, whenever Ishaq had need to transport genuine, valuable stuff pass the asteroid fields of Qu'ut Minor. This one was with Dhorhan on an abandoned planet called Anshak-3. It's his favourite story:

"We were just setting down on Anshak for a refueling job, you know, since sometimes his runs across the system can just drain your ship of all it has. So we come down at this refueling station; Dhorhan swears he's stopped there many times before, but unfortunately I do have my suspicions. The place looks pretty beaten up, and it's the only station for clicks around. I wondered if there were anyone keeping it up, 'cos it looked like a cross between a junkyard and a TAU-14.

"This alien guy's there. He's got tentacles for arms and he sits with his friends behind the counter when I come in to ask for fuel. And cue this: the very moment I step into his filthy shack, they all break out whispering. They know I'm human. They know I bring the Drej with me. They know I'm, like, the biggest monster in the fucking galaxy. They think I'm going to burn down their hellhole and kill them and rob them of their hard-earned, grimy oil cash.

"No, it's not that they acted like that. I just knew it. You know me, Stith, my paranoia…

"So I thought: if they want me to be a monster to them, I'll play the role. I go up to the counter where the big guy's standing, looking both a bit tough and a bit apprehensive at once. I stop at the counter and slam it. You should've seen his face – you'd never realise how he was trying to keep his anxiety under control – and the best thing is I don't say a word – I just stare at him, and give him the silent treatment. Shit – shit man, I had them all in their suckers… I could've given them a heart-attack with a word.

"And then guess what the hell happens next? That asshole Dhorhan has to barge into this little scene. He strolls through the open door, and he too stares the bloody stare at us in there. Those octopussy guys at the counter where, like, what the hell? Who's this big ass? Who's this tall idiot who walks in when we're going to die at the hands of this freaking human?

"I thought: shit, I'm gonna get caught out by this ostrich head. So I thought of a way to finish them off. I shouted at the guy at the counter: '300 credits for a fucking gallon of fuel? You're fucking crazy!' They all get a shock… even that idiot Dhorhan I tell you. And this is where mister honourable and true comes to wipe up the mess: Dhorhan goes up to the guy at the counter and starts to bargain with him. The counter guy is like, what the hell's happening? And I slip out in the confusion.

"You know what Dhorhan said when I told him about it later? He actually laughed, and told me to stop bullying 'beings of sorely diminished intellect' or he'd jettison me and sell my cargo."

**Fact:** I don't usually enjoy all of Ishaq's stories.

**Fact: **Ishaq sometimes tells me bits and pieces about Dhorhan. I've never met him before – although Akima thinks quite highly of him; she feels she owes her life to this soft-spoken freedom fighter. From all the stuff she tells me about him, he sounds like a pretty impressive guy.

Ishaq likes to speak his stories with a defiance that I think even Akima would blush at. But don't tell him I said so.

To Ishaq, Dhorhan was the good Samaritan – but after a while, when he got to know him better, he didn't turn out as good as Ishaq would've liked him to be.

"He's a bloody straightjacket that Dhorhan," he told me when we first met on New Earth, when I asked how the Qu'utians were treating him. "Quiet, unassuming, and reserved. Too reserved for his own good. He nearly drove me crazy with all of that 'survival-is-the-primary-objective-to-any-endangered-race philosophy, going on about honour, valour, courage, perseverance and all that crap we know isn't true."

I hate to admit it, but Ishaq is right – for the moment.

Dhorhan was a hero in Qu'ut Minor. Not only had he flew us out of safety, but all this survival missions beyond the Qu'utian asteroid field had earned him many decorations. But, claimed Ishaq, he was robbed of something not even glory could give him: Dhorhan never had a family.

"He never told me he was feeling damn miserable only when I returned from my first visit here with the news of Akima and Cale and everyone else." Ishaq recounts. "I told him that having a family wasn't something we could just set our mind into doing, for who would put their lives into our hands after all the shit we've been through. But Dhorhan let it get to him.

"I suppose that took quite a toll. For someone who's devoted all his life to the noblest and most honourable duties of his race, this emptiness probably weighed him down so much that he became a diminished self of who he once was. During the fuel station incident, I could still like joke with him. Seven years later, he's stopped flying. He's back on the ground."

What happened to Dhorhan in the end I'll probably never know, because Ishaq keeps these juicy endings to himself, or purposely omits them so he prolongs the story, giving another chapter to tell another day.

**Fact:** Until I meet Ishaq again, parts of his story and mine will remain missing; to you, they'll remain mysterious. Ishaq was as much as friend to me as Akima was, and to watch him depart within the fraction of a second is – if I can quote all those bloody sentimentalists out there – "harrowing". **Fiction:** And so I'll probably never know how Dhorhan turned out, whether he is still alive somewhere or whether he pulled the plug on himself like so many veterans of earth did during the 15 years without a planet. And I'll never know the truth of Ishaq's fictitious reputation, whether his fact is as fictitious as he is, or whether his stories are the sincere, hard, sweaty-in-your-face truth he claims it to be.

And until I buck up the courage to ask Akima, I'll never know how close Akima and Ishaq really were – the exactness of their almost-fictitious relationship.

Because, as Ishaq always reminds me, his truth is always subjective, until a nice story proves it right.


	8. Family Business

**8. Family Business**

Not many people will tell you about their family history so readily. Especially humans, who have such an obsession with their past that it's hard to fully comprehend how they go forward. To any human, genealogy, history and family roots are all part of a subconscious culture, flowing through every tradition since its earliest days. Humans, unlike many other races in his universe, are loath to let go of their past.

So it took me a while to understand why a human would get offended if he was told his great-uncle twice removed (I've never got this 'removed' part, but I just add it in for the thought) was a bloody gun-runner who killed other people. Even if it's the truth. You see, truth is, all humans want to be seen as noble yet ambitious; respectable yet determined at all costs to seize what they want. So nobody likes being called the spawn of a murderer, or a smuggler, or a writer who wrote this critique on human culture -

Akima included.

* * *

I'm not a nostalgic person. All I know about my family history is that, as I've told already, it begun in a system in the Inner Quadrant, and followed the Mantrin migrations outward to the lower systems. And somehow, a few hundred years in between, I was born in Solbrecht. All this history was painstakingly put together by Gune, who is as demented as you humans are in believing we should remember our past down to every detail.

So if I'm not nostalgic, then Akima is overly sentimental. She has her family history by the roots, all the way from their noble beginnings as a samurai family in Japan during the Heian Period (a long, long time ago in earth's pre-modern history, if you ask me) to their existence through the two Great Wars, the postmodern era, the space-faring age and until the destruction of earth.

She had 2 older siblings. They died with her parents on earth when the Drej hit.

Akima had two surviving relatives then. Her grandmother Miwa Kunimoto, and her uncle Yoshi, who coincidentally, was found on Houston colony just a few years after the destruction of earth. To her knowledge, she has no other surviving members, and the lineage of two great clans are all but extinguished. Only she remains.

If I'm not making any sense, I don't blame you. Hardly any one of us takes account of our family history nowadays, don't we? I mean if I'm talking to myself it would be quite a lamely rhetorical question. But you humans can only remember till when – your grandparents? I don't blame you: since earth was destroyed a lot of families were cut short.

But we're talking about the Kunimoto family here. Yoshi and Miwa Kunimoto were a far branch, as I've heard it from Akima, of a large clan which lived in this place called Japan when earth was still around. Among them noblemen, war generals, inventors, accountants and captains have been discovered. But when you search your own history, it can still occasionally return to haunt you. For example, Akima uncovered one of her granduncles, a certain Shoka Kunimoto, was a wanted criminal back in his days on earth. He served time for theft, got out of human prison, murdered, stole some more, killed another, started trading in guns and eventually got killed.

So imagine Akima stoned-faced, learning about such "indignity" in her family.

The Kunimoto family has certainly got issues to settle. Good old Uncle Yoshi had a second wife, which made Akima suspect his longstanding Purka fever problem could've been part of a larger illness. Her little-known grandfather Gonji Kunimoto committed suicide just days before the Drej finished off earth. Her grandmother left a note about this in her journals which Akima inherited but never really read till she settled down. Apparently, he was pretty upset about losing all his earthly fortunes.

And much further down, the Kunimoto family shows itself as a clan of fighters: anti-globalization protesters, deserters, kamikaze bombers and ronin. All somehow connected by a decent name, which through the ages, lasted to the fiercest fighter who defeated the Drej. This is half of Akima's history.

We don't know much about the lineage sprawling backwards from Akima's mother. Firstly, Akima can't even remember her name. And her grandmother and uncle never talked explicitly about her. Akima told me the only thing they emphasized about her mother was she had Akima when she was 17.

Akima had Tiamat when she was 19.

Well, I guess it runs in the family.

But the thing which Akima did establish was that her mother was of the Miyazaki family. Their side seemed to have been entirely wiped out by the fall of earth. No record exists of them, anywhere. Even among the Japanese drifters and survivors the name is rare. Yet one impressive thing got discovered: among Akima's ancestors, was this man named Hayao Miyazaki. I suppose to you it won't mean much, but this guy was a great guy, a contributor to earth's culture and history from a branch of art which (if I'm not wrong) is called anime.

And it was Ishaq, not Gune or Akima, who discovered this. Gune had been helping Akima, since his study of the Titan Project's archiving system had allowed him to access family records and histories, however limited. But Ishaq stumbled across this guy's masterpieces. They had been labeled one the Restoration Arm's list as cultural artifacts. Several were already on Fauldro. Ishaq recovered the greater bulk of them on a dismantling drifter colony called New Yokohama a few years after the founding of New Earth. He does not have the complete collection of this anime, but he has enough to say that Miyazaki is one of his favourites.

Along with Egyptian music, bhangra, Harry Potter and Kanye West.

And half the time I don't understand what the hell he's telling me.

So on one hand, the Kunimoto family comes into the picture, a proud and decent clan of warriors, successful men and women. While on the other, we have the Miyazaki clan – relative unknowns, a suspect illegitimacy in Akima's birth and a creative arts master as their great ancestor. Put them together and what do you get?

Ishaq sent me some copies of the Miyazaki guy's work when Akima requested for it. This guy had his ideas right and he got down to the real issues we struggle with even today. Hell, I even admit he's a better storyteller than Ishaq, a more wholesome writer than I am. By a thousand miles. He knows that war does, understands we have to take care of our own shit and at the same time, don't be so greedy and selfish now we have a planet again.

One of the characters in his film (if that's what you call it) Princess Mononoke is a warrior girl called San, feisty, determined and crazy.

Akima, if you're reading this, do you know how much she reminds me of you?

Yeah.

_This chapter is dedicated to Hayao Miyazaki, master of creative arts and storytelling. To his films which have single-handedly created a genre and have a meaning beyond the literal. May his work inspire others, as it has inspired me._


	9. AntiHero Truth

**10. Anti-Hero Truth**

_Took me almost a year to get this chapter out, after leaving it loose and discontinuing the story. I will update when I have time, although it's safe for me to say that this story won't be going anywhere too soon. Thanks to all my repetitive reviewers for their comments._

Let's get several things clear as we move into the subject.

The story goes Akima and I first met Korso in a Mantrin restaurant at Houston colony in the December of 3040. She had been a pilot for a year since we'd left Ishaq at Qu'ut Minor, and I'd been doing my trading around the system there as long as she did. We were partners of a successful company. And Korso, handsome captain of the _Valkyrie _madeus an offer we couldn't refuse. Shortly after, we were on the _Valkyrie_, hauling expensive cargo while fighting the Drej and all sorts of aliens in the universe, hell devoted to finding the boy who would save the human race.

Screw it. That's the clichéd version.

If you believe the crap I've written above then you've been had. But I don't blame you; nothing much has been said of the two-and-a-half years when Akima and I were on the _Valkyrie _trying to piece together bits and pieces of the Titan Project. Many assume we were trying to save the universe; someone even had the nerve to speculate we were killing Drej daily and winning the hearts and minds of humans all over the galaxy. Truth is, we weren't. Truth is, we were not saving anyone from anything. Truth is, the _Valkyrie_ was a screw up.

Truth is, the truth has got nothing to do with all of this.

* * *

I'm going to tell you a story about Akima and myself. 

People get the basic facts right: we were partners in a successful company and we did meet Korso and his crew in 3040 – December 23 – if you are interested in the exact date. He had made a prior arrangement to meet with us since he had been a customer of ours once. He was a very (in)famous cargo hauler throughout the Outer System, well known for confirmed delivery, affordable prices, on-the-dot business and womanizing. The last virtue was inherited also by Preed. His business with us up to our meeting was solely commercial; he called it outsourcing to the less threatening systems.

Akima had met him before. On the day of the meeting she tried to tell me of their last meeting. When Korso showed up with Preed and Gune, the first thing Akima noticed was his body, then his garb, then the way he carried himself, then his proposal. Akima, if you need to know, had become a little restless after all the long hours in deep space.

Korso's offer, as stated in Akima's Story, was plain straightforward. He was doing business, he needed a good pilot and a gunner and we fit the bill. Akima was not really much of a business person, so I did the details and the conditions. The negotiated deal turned out to be pretty impressive: 40000 credits per year for at least 5 years, plus a bonus of 25 of the cash from each successful cargo run and a chance to work with – and find – the people behind the Titan Project.

Honestly speaking, apart from the money, I wasn't very awed by Korso when I met him. He had the gait of a man either high on stimulants or slow in his thinking. I didn't like the way he got Gune to address him as captain, and his insistence on that term later on nearly drove Akima and I to mutiny. He was, as the stories I heard put it, unstable and pleasure-seeking. He made me doubt the motives behind his passion for seeking out the remnants of the Titan Project. As for Preed, well, he was a slime ball and still is. No good comes out of an Akrennian. Especially one who's a bastard.

The deal was settled after an hour. I thought it was a bit of rash and naïve of Akima to approach Korso about the deal directly and to agree even though I wanted to think over it. But she was doing what was best to keep her and me alive with a steady income, and out of dangerous places like Fauldro and Solbrecht. However, the deal included a clause which Akima and I really underestimated: sell the Ronin and use the credits from the sales to support us as we moved into the _Valkyrie_ full time, as soon as possible.

Everything went smoothly. We got a very good price for the Ronin and put all our affairs in order as we moved into a powerful, well-equipped ship to start our life afresh. Ironically, that's when things started turning around. First there were some disagreements with the way Korso and Preed worked. Then we were fighting over the roles Akima and I played on board.

All this was fine, you know. I didn't mind it and I could tolerate Preed's arrogance and Korso's superiority complex well enough to make the _Valkyrie_ a place fit to live in. Anyway, I've had my disagreements with Preed and Korso over all our years of being partners and fighters and all that sort of stuff; we aren't so petty as to be drawn apart by such trivialities.

But if there's one thing I can't forgive Korso for is when he starting coming on to Akima.To even start on this one makes me enraged, bitter and confused. Not because the idea of it – to many people who have considered the crew of the _Valkyrie_ instrumental in the founding of New Earth – sounds very unnatural and out of tune with the heroics they always get told, but also because it was Korso using Akima – ruthlessly, thoughtlessly.

Just imagine the scenario and perhaps you'll understand what I mean. Here was this space-faring, self-seeking playboy who recruited two female crewmembers on his ship. Which was full of guys. Now that itself sounds a bit questionable. But I'll leave it. He's a human, 37 years old, definitely with some good looks and a good physique for his age, but blunt and with one principle in life which would turn extreme later on: get what you want in life and screw anyone who tries to stop you. He's got experience in this kind of situations (his second-in-command has got a worse attitude). And he selects a human girl to join his ship.

I told you earlier on I'd heard of Korso's exploits on his trips hauling cargo, especially at the drifter colonies. But if you ask me, the problem wasn't Korso; it was Akima.

So here's the girl who rashly and blindly accepts the offer to join Korso. She's just 16 years old, but looks at least ten years older (and even Preed can point that out). She's had no guidance in life, except a grandmother and an elder mentor who both died when she didn't expect it. She's had no human friends. She's experienced nothing for the last two years but prejudice, hate, the suppression of her own culture and the failure of the one source of affection. By then, I guess she was over Ishaq, but whether she was over her grandmother and Mohammed Bourain's death was another thing which I daren't not ask her. She had her periods of depression and, generally, she was unprepared for taking the plunge.

In summary, it was a 37 year old guy coming onto, taking advantage of a 16 year old girl on his terms, fully knowing how jilted she had been.

**It sounds damn sick.**

The first time caught Akima – and myself – by surprise. Akima was piloting the ship. I was doing maintenance on the turrets. Korso was observing our passage through a nebulae-strewn section of space. Preed was on co-pilot.

Imagine the scene first.

When she's piloting, Akima is always too distracted by her first love to notice anything else. Her eyes would've been darting ahead, sweeping away comets and ships and nebulae to envision the safest and fastest path for the _Valkyrie_ to pummel through. Since she had been at the helm of the _Valkyrie_, Gune noticed we'd been having more uneventful and faster rides across our targeted meeting and dropping off points.

This was exactly the scene that day. Korso would've taken a walk across to the bridge, as he always does, to order a change of routes or any evasive action. As captain that was supposed to be his most important job. Instead he goes up to Akima, rests his shoulders on the head of the pilot's seat, and goes real close –

I didn't know then what they were talking about. It wasn't my job: I was ordered to keep my head cool at the gun port lest we got ambushed by Drej. Korso was whispering into her right ear; his face would've been directly beside Akima's, and she would've felt the stubble he always kept at the bottom of his chin. Preed, I noticed, was grinning. Which couldn't be a good sign.

As Korso continued, almost touching Akima's cheek with his boldness and approach, she didn't even flinch. The ship kept going on its course, smooth and uninterrupted, it's exterior unaffected by the lechery inside. Now this is what's so admirable and idiotic about Akima (pardon me again): she's so professional, nothing affects her – to the point she overlooks other people taking advantage of her.

Probably Korso got a bit weary of attempting to distract her in her element, so he pulled away, but not before sliding his hands to her waist, maybe across her navel, and feeling he'd done enough for the day, retreating back to the observation deck.

Akima would never tell me what Korso said. When it was time for stand down, she would tell me, red-faced, not to say anything to her.

* * *

Korso may have been a little loose and unstable, but in all matters of organisation and regulation he was clearly far ahead of any of us, even Akima. He had inherited such orderliness and regiment from his time in the 45th Airborne Missions Squadron. I learnt from many human friends, some of whom were veterans of this squadron, these were exceptionally talented fighter pilots who defended Earth during the Drej attack. Some were supposed to escort the Titan out into deep space but fell behind in trying to keep Drej stingers from destroying shuttles filled with evacuees. 

Without any shred of doubt, Korso was a decorated war veteran, one of the few who knew Sam Tucker well enough to be entitled familiarity with finding the mysterious Titan. He held the rank of a senior staff sergeant while in service, but was posthumously decorated as captain days before the Drej attack. He claims he didn't know.

All the discipline and order drilled into him from his days at the flight academy and in training took control of how things were run on the _Valkyrie_. Akima once said Korso told her if this was how we still performed under his strict rotation of duties, we wouldn't stand a chance against the Drej. His internal guerilla war and self-satisfying tactics meant he was as paranoid as Akima was during our days on the Ronin, but it all came with a certain schedule. He and Akima took turns on the pilot's seat, rotating after every 48 hours. After each of them had finished with two cycles, there would be two whole days when the _Valkyrie_ was completely on autopilot, with the provision either a gunner or crew be on the bridge during that period. However, most of the time Korso slept on the bridge, and he would still be walking around when Akima was in charge. And this only applied for periods of deep space travel, and not in busy trade lanes or when we were pulling into planets.

As for me, Korso's rotation plan meant I took turns with Preed and Gune at the gunner's port and at the co-pilot's seat. A pilot was never meant to be on the co-pilot's seat, Korso would tell us. Our duties were 36 hours at each position, followed by 48 hours of rest. At first everyone, especially Akima, had trouble adjusting to this new routine Korso implemented when we came in. The long hours of duty were a struggle, and the official ease time we had could be interrupted by our arrivals at our destination, or when we were under attack. It was a hard and sleepless life on the _Valkyrie_, because Korso was in charge. But honestly speaking, he did the most work. Cale, as a passenger, I noticed, did the least.

Korso was king over all the other minute details on board. And this was where he could be a bit contradictory. His orders were, when we stopped at our ports-of-call, we were not allowed to entertain any visitors; the only people permitted on board were our business partners and others approved by Korso himself. And none of them were to venture any farther than the cargo bay. Yeah right. Because at the drifter colonies, Korso had the habit of bringing girls to his bunk.

We were given permission to roam and explore the places where we called at, whether they were drifter colonies, moons, planets, salvage stations, asteroid platforms or trading ships. But Korso insisted that there always be one sentry on board, armed, in case anything went wrong. When he docked, Korso was too preoccupied looking for a good time. In a way, so was Preed. Akima would curiously venture into these places to explore, most of the times accompanied by Gune. So I think I did the most sentry duty over those 3 years. Anyway, if Akima was in trouble, I had the weaponry to get her out of it.

Most places we stopped at were either human-friendly or neutral. The notorious anti-human triangle of systems, which you probably knew very well, we avoided, because Korso was a human and he was the official pilot of a stolen ship. So we avoided Solbrecht, Fauldro and Kalparu. D'Armara was by far the most human-friendly planet we went to, so we visited the planet the most frequently, along with certain drifter colonies like Houston, Tokyo-Jima and Amero Del Rios . And, yeah, we avoided the slave ships too, unless we really needed to make a trade.

But there've been times when Korso's regulations can be flawed. Korso once brought back this exotic D'Armaran girl to his bunk. I was doing sentry, I saw them, but I didn't say anything. And get this: once inside, she overpowered Korso, locked him in his bunk, made it to the bridge and attempted to steal the ship. In the end, I had to fire a couple of shots through her, all nicelytaken to the head to avoid hitting the controls.

Korso was responsible enough to help me clean up afterwards. Not a word to the crew, he said. But as we disposed the body into space, he looked me in the eye and said:

"You did damn well with that bitch up there. So fucking well you should be our permanent sentry on board whenever we dock."

In short, Korso was a maniac at keeping things in order. In his order. By micromanaging his own little world he was in charge of, all he wanted was to have a better grip over the outside world: an impossibility. It was too chaotic, too wracked with factions even among the humans, and too anti-human and anti-hero for that.

* * *

If you think Korso's first pass at Akima was overt, wait till I tell you about what he did next. 

In that Titan A.E movie, I think you'll be pretty clear with that shower scene. Yes, _that _shower scene; you know, like that Cale-supposedly-finds-Akima-naked-in-the-shower scene. Well, as much the two of them enjoyed doing it back then, there's truthfully a more sinister background to it. And it took place about a month after Korso first started making his passes.

I heard this from Akima, who earlier dismissed it as the coincidental accident. She was on board our quarters on the _Valkyrie_; we had pulled into D'Armara, finished our business and we were getting ready to pull out from the planet. It's only sensible after a day of escorting Korso around his usual haunts to meet his customers that we freshen up before leaving. And when I think about it again now, I guess Akima was somewhat to blame also: she is innocently oblivious to the attention people pay to her. With that attitude, she never locks the door to the showers.

So she's in the shower, and then the door opens. It's Korso. He is clearly drunk, he is clearly not in his normal state of mind, but that should not be any excuse for this intrusion. Akima tells me the first thing she sees is him, and the second thing she sees is that she is standing stark naked, halfway out of the shower. At least Cale only saw her behind.

Akima did what any normal person would: she flung a towel around herself, but by then Korso has seen, and he approaches her, calm enough for her not to realise he is staggering. He leers at her, up to the point that she is pressed as hard as possible against the shower wall, crushed underneath his gaze.

And Korso says, and Akima knows he's drunk: "Hey, pretty. Don't undress till I come in."

He exits out the shower laughing groggily, as if he'd just been to a brothel. Akima, stunned, doesn't do anything for an several minutes, till she knows the coast is clear and she finishes what she started.

The way Akima put it to me was as if she had just seen something unusual floating in space; there was hardly a sense of frustration at Korso's approaches, nor a panic that she had been emotionally violated by this older man. She was blissfully unaware of the underhand work which Korso was doing: treating her like an equal in the eyes of others, but lording over her completely in his ship. I dare not say anything to her – and perhaps in that way I failed her as a friend, because I didn't want to open her eyes to the lustful, deceitful ways of men.

By the time Akima realised something was seriously wrong, she had already become a violent, reckless part of the _Valkyrie_ crew. There was no time to break down, no time to be sorry for her being taken advantage of. It would take her some time to reconcile the fact that Korso was no Mohammed Bourain, and while partners, they were – like all of us – living off our own problems in each other.

(20.09.06)


	10. Murder by Right

**11. Murder by Right**

In the movie and in some books written about the history of the Titan, we see the usual clichés of the pre-Cale crew of the _Valkyrie:_ militaristic Korso, double-dealing two-faced Preed (well, these two are closest to the truth), scientifically off-tangent Gune, and tough-chick Akima. Oh yes, there's the gun-smuggling, RPG-totting me which I will not discuss here. If you think the topic of _me_requires further embellishment, wait for my next book.

So these scholars have touched the surface. Some books want to explore the living, individual histories of the sorry bag of misfits that was the_Valkyrie, _but so far it seems a lot of people have information only on Korso. I guess being in the military means they keep a history of you; and last I checked, most people seem to write a lot of fanfiction on him too.

But my focus here is on Akima. Remember how I described her when she first came on board? There was a time when she eventually shed that naïve, we're-doing-this-for-the-human-race mindset, and became completely emotionless, almost as mechanical as Korso (who never looked at her again) and – if she won't kill me for revealing this – somewhat hedonistic. But this change did not happen overnight though. It was the cumulative effect of the many things mentioned before: the deaths of her two mentors, the atmosphere of hate and discrimination, Ishaq's departure and Korso's indiscriminate advances.

And one other thing: her first kill.

Her first_human_ kill.

If you want to talk about the turning point, that would be it. After _that_event she was never the same again, and slowly, the girlish smile she wore, her pleasant attitude, disappeared; she talked less, swore more and eventually, after _that_ event I observed, she was on the bridge almost all the time.

That was the turning point: the day she turned into the Akima Kunimoto we know so well.

And the day she lost her innocence.

* * *

Storytelling is a bloody business. But the truth must be told. 

The turning point came sometime in 3041, close to a year after we had joined the _Valkyrie, _and long enough for our constant cargo dealing, contraband smuggling and violent people to become routine to us.

The logic went like this: because we dealt with such sensitive cargo, which could range from thermonuclear devices to actual human artifacts, or the once-in-a-lifetime treasure from some distant planet, our trips were dubbed by Korso himself as "risky" (an understatement again: hazardous would be more apt). Operating costs were insanely high. And so, Korso took all kinds of questionable loans from human and alien creditors alike.

So in this particular scenario we pulled in to New Johore, where our problems began.

Some of you perhaps can take a hint: New Johore was one of the more volatile colonies. Early in the drifter years the tiny, dense congregation of just a dozen old dumpsters was already notorious for its lawlessness and so-called rule by force. But because it orbited between Ambrin-12 and Solbrecht, it was the last stopover before any pilot entered territory without seeing a friendly human face. Still to Korso, the more chaotic, the better.

We received permission to dock at a berth from the colony's trade control, and Akima navigated New Johore's haphazard berths and larger ships to settle the _Valkyrie _in a corner berth. Why this is significant you will understand later. Korso gave us a brief on our duties. Gune and I were to guard the ship – _fucking typical ­– _while the rest made a delivery of something like a hundred thousand mortar rounds we'd flinched from a Kaplaruian military vessel (don't get me started on that one). What drifters needed mortar rounds for in a tight, bustling colony, I didn't want to know. We make deliveries, not ask questions. Ethics is not part of the business agreement, Korso would remind me.

The plan was damn simple. Deliver, get an invoice, get the money and depart within the hour for D'Armara, our pit stop. Nothing could go wrong. Or at least nothing was _supposed _to go wrong.

But things went wrong from the moment they stepped into the port. As I stood guard with a rifle and Gune fooled around on the bridge, I watched them haul the cargo for no less than ten metres when they were confronted. They appeared from the crowd; and when they appeared the crowd, sensing troubled, started to disperse. But mind you, these were humans, so I thought they were just another crack bunch of Korso's money-hungry creditors.

I observed them from my position, in the arch of the main deck door of the _Valkyrie_, wondering first why they never said a word when Korso was negotiating interest with them, and then getting uneasy because they had surrounded Preed, Korso and Akima. I was thinking: should I intervene? I shouldn't have wasted the thought. Because I barely turned away when they began fighting.

As I saw them lunge at each other, I knew a rifle like mine wasn't suitable – they were roughing it out, battling melee fist to fist, kick to kick. Which means those thugs wouldn't stand a chance. Preed's height, Korso's bulk and Akima's plain speed meant I didn't think they needed help. But as the fight waged on, someone shoved Korso into the mortars and a crate opened, scattering those deadly shells out onto street. Then I saw the blinding flash of a silvery metal I knew was a knife,

"Guys, get back here!" I remember yelling. For extra effect though, I loosed several rounds overhead.

I saw them dislodge themselves from their aggressors who, in the disorganization, were screwing themselves by tripping over each other's feet. But both Korso and Akima were not fast enough; one came from behind, and took Akima by her shoulder. To my utter shock, his free hand was curled around a knife as long as his arm. Protective instinct took in; I raised my rifle, peered through the scope and went for the trigger.

But through the scope everything went into a still frame – you know, like in those weird moments of danger when life is supposed to pass before your eyes. Well for me, it tends to pause. And it wasn't my life anyway. Still, it was Akima's, and I didn't care if my aim was bad, I didn't want her to get cut up by another human –

Although the exact opposite took place. The thug pulled Akima back – she snaked away – he overreached – she caught the hand holding the blade – he wrenched it back – and Akima directed it straight through his throat. It was a wrong move within a wrong move.

But Akima, completely stunned, was bounded away by Korso. And I took that as my cue to open fire. The first few rounds hit the mortar shells and no one came for the retreating figures of Korso and Akima after that.

"Go!" Korso shouted. When he reached the closing door, I would imagine he flung Akima into me – because their combined weight sent me reeling.

And I remember swearing.

Things were happening very fast. But do remember these were humans we were fighting against, not Drej. Korso had headed straight to the bridge. Before I could even get to my feet, I felt the _Valkyrie_shift and force itself free from its berth. I managed to dash to the bridge in time. Only to see watch Preed single-handedly use the _Valkyrie_'s pulse cannons to blow all the other ships berthed around us free. The wreckage of a half a dozen ships swept across Korso's monstrous figure in the cockpit as he accelerated and spirited us away out of New Johore.

Korso and I argued a lot. But nothing could beat the quarrel we had once he stepped out of the cockpit seat. I confronted him and probably went "what the hell…what the fuck?" and he gave me his sickening nonchalance, with a trademark accompanying sentence: "I bloody hell saved our sorry asses today."

This was his version of what happened: the delivery of contraband armament was for a local 'magistrate' of the drifter colony, who had requested arms to fend off a territorial feud. But by the time we berthed, that supposed 'magistrate' was no longer in the realm of existence, replaced by his enemies, who so happened to meet an unassuming Korso, a too-smart-mouthed Preed and, at least according to Korso, a too-hot-to-resist Akima. And that's where everything started.

Whether I believed Korso or not is not the issue. I knew long before this incident he was capable of murder without emotion which, incidentally, was a strong quality in Preed too. So I, as always, walked away from the argument.

And found Akima where I left her. Completely stoned still.

* * *

To console someone who's first taken a life is not easy. I've seen too many young kids with guns shrug off a life like a bullet, and continue living as if taking a life meant nothing. But watching Akima turn to me and say, "I took a human life right, Stith? A _human_," was – I hate to say it – painful. For me. 

She was sitting stock-still and upright. She was staring away from me. She was blinking with a freakish consistency. She was unaware of the blood of the man's life she took hanging onto her nose and neck. She was not herself. It was the only time I saw Akima truly breakdown.

And what was I to do?

"Akima? Listen, it wasn't your fault."

"That guy shouldn't have. And you know it."

"If you didn't kill him, you'd be the one with the knife in your neck."

"Ok. Stop it. You're freaking me out."

"Akima?"

"Akima, talk."

"I said: talk!"

* * *

When she didn't, the only sane thing I could do was bring her back to her bunk. I didn't see her for two whole days. Fortunately for her, Akima's shell-shocked breakdown was discussed at length by our concerned captain and his sympathetic first-mate. The assholes. Because it soon turned into a storytelling session on when and whom their first kills were. And from that little talk, I guess I knew better than to stay. 

And I would know better than to say what happened when Akima emerged later. I hated seeing her cry, but I could not avoid the things she was mumbling over and over again.

_Grandmother should've taught me better – she should've taught me not to take a life – she should've taught me better – she should've taught me, Stith – because I'm guilty – I'm a murderer – I'm a murderer – I took a life, Stith – _

_I took a human life!_

* * *

The second time Akima had the opportunity to take a human life, she had the final decision whether to pull the trigger. In D'Aramara we caught a human girl who was guilty of passing on information on our whereabouts to the Drej and other planetary authorities. Korso, not wanting to do the dirty work for once , left the job to us. When she turned to seek my thoughts, I could see what had happened on New Johore blaze fiercely in her eyes: the mistake, weakness and breakdown. But factor in an extra year fighting Drej and human-haters, the choice wasn't surprising. 

She shot the girl in between the eyes.

"What a damn mess," Preed commented.

"Shut up."

The look on Preed's face was priceless, like he'd been burned by a probe. But Akima was unreadable. When I did ask her later, she looked at me and said, "if I tell you, will you think of me any differently?"

That was a rhetorical question. _Of course not._

"I'm doing what's right for the human race to survive."

"At least for now."

"Right, Stith?"

* * *

NOTES:_This chapter is a year overdue. The idea popped into my head during a Saturday & I decided to quickly add it to the story before I'd forget it. So there you go, another chapter, for an old story, a very shrinking fanbase. Rarely anyone else posts or updates their TAE stories anymore._

_On another note, I will end this fic soon. There'll be 2 more chapters – maximum. I will wrap up with Stith's conclusion & maybe 1 more chapter on Preed and/ or Korso. Haven't thought about it yet, but I hate leaving work unfinished. Especially this one, which took me a long time to think up._

_Thanks for reading this!_


	11. Screwed

**12. **

**Screwed**

.

.

So there's a lot of rumours flying around about relationships. People are not content with the official version of the _Valkryie_ crew in Titan A.E, Akima's Story, Cale's Story, the movie, or any of the ridiculously strict autobiographical texts which have come up over the 10 years of New Earth's existence.

People think there's more (and you're right – because after 12 chapters of revisionist literature on the _Valkyrie_, if you still bought all that "official" truths then I have wasted this exposition on unbelievers). And people's speculation seems, for some inane reason, to centre on the ship's most notorious crew members: Preed.

What is the value, I ask openly, of resurrecting skeletons? Retelling half-truths? Especially since this nitwit's memory has been so clouded by folklore, so embellished, so distorted (by me) in the last few chapters, to the point that it renders objectivity impossible.

But that's the point, isn't it? Stories are NOT meant to be objective.

* * *

Let's get the facts clear first.

Yes, Preed **did** die on the _Titan_. Korso really did break his sorry neck in their melee. He holds the unfortunate but well-earned record of being the only one of the crew in board of the _Valkyrie_ to die by someone else's hands. In other words: to not give his life up willingly. When his body flopped on the dusty polished floor of the ship labeled as humanity's last hope, my first reaction – let's settle this – was not uncontrollable felicity, or muted disgust, or unabashed sadness.

My first thought was: _fuck_.

Despite all our conversations, information obtained from Korso, and Gune's personal observations, the original meeting – the first time from which a viable and exploitative partnership sprung – between Korso and Preed still remains quite an undocumented mystery. According to Preed himself (the liar), he was requested by Korso to "enter the industry at an entry-level position, because of his own unique **talent** in negotiating trade with fellow clients and an uncanny knack for being creatively violent" (emphasis by Preed himself).

Korso, in his time alive, has never confirmed this. Gune, however, tells a completely different story: in his autobiographical work, Press the Damn Button, he implies that Preed was honour-bound by strict Akrennian customs to Korso. Whether or not this suggests that Korso once saved Preed's life, or that Preed simply liked creating havoc, we will never find out. Because Preed is, comparatively, dead.

But these things I know: Preed was Korso dialectical opposite, but what he lacked in discipline and stature, he made up for in underhanded skill and ulterior motivation. He was my second gunner, meaning that in the extremely unlikely situation I missed a target in a fight, he would follow up. He took the main gunner's port on the _Valkyrie_ and – now this is true – never ceased to use the ship's two most powerful blaster cannons on anything which he deemed an enemy: the Drej, Solbretch mercenaries seeking us out, human drifter ships and lone, unarmed individuals.

Preed smoked. He fucking _smoked_. He smoked everything thing he could get his lips on. Akima told me he once called a mash up cocktail of old Earth tobacco, Garthian narcotics and Narathwat skins "a breath of fresh air."

And, yes, Preed holds another record: most number of Drej killed in a single gunfight. What the hell, right? But yeah, this is certified true by myself and Akima – we saw it with our own eyes at Tokyo-Jima drifter colony. That astounding spectacle is also related, but less handsomely, with the reason why a greater part of his hairless head is plastered with that stupid piece of stainless steel. But, damn, was he lucky. Korso may have had several lucky hits in his skirmishes (he killed as many as 7 Drej footsoldiers, I heard). But Preed trumps us all with his big, oh-so-damn-slick 19.

But there was one thing Korso and Preed had in common. In fact, here is where all gloriously (truthful) stereotyping ends. Because they shared one disconcerting compulsion: Akima.

* * *

This story is true. I swear it.

In 3042, less than a year before we finally found the savior of all humanity in a sludge-pooled salvage colony, we had that famous shootout – a free-for-all with the Drej on Tokyo-Jima colony. What began as a routine visit to refuel turned into a deadly ambush which we shot our way out of. Which Preed (that leech) emerged as the hero for some of the most selfless moves we had ever seen him execute. We did not ponder the implications of why the Drej were on a human drifter colony instead of simply blowing it apart like so many others, but instead we were content with a hollow bloodless victory. Too content.

And so we were a _bit_ high. Korso, despite getting quite badly shot up, was laughing and shouting at the top of his lungs at how Preed great was, how he had really really really killed seven Drej himself before, then at how good a shot he was during the firefight, and inevitably how great Preed was – all this while simultaneously piloting the _Valkyrie _and being tended to by Akima.

"Screw this shit!" Korso knocked himself loose from the pilot's seat and the ship swung into an autopilot-ed whirl. "We need to celebrate!"

He looked at Preed. "What would the hero of the day like?"

I probably knew the answer even before Preed could scream it back at Korso.

And so Korso led us down to the cargo hold, where the "victuals" we were supposed to be transporting to D'Aramara laid waiting.

Liquor. All eight thousand gallons of it.

As it was mentioned, we were a _bit_ high.

Even Akima, who stood smirking as Korso and Preed tore the packaging and blast-proof (but not Preed-proof) foam and unearthed various cylinders looking like incendiary bombs. If only it were one, because it failed to explode when Preed shattered it. Instead it bled a clear, sinister liquid which he anointed himself with.

And then, at the sight of Akima standing, aloof, her pistol still twirled like a ribbon around a finger, he made the proposition that started it all:

"Let's have a bet."

I could see Korso pause. And Akima, her face a little too confident, added a little slippery grin for Preed. She was probably a little bit _too_ high. Tokyo-Jima was, after all, the first time she had – according to her – wrestled a Drej warrior to the ground and killed it point-blank-range.

"I bet –" went Preed.

"Careful, Akima. He's smashed," I remembered saying.

"Shut up Stith," He crossed his hands and looked at Akima. "I bet in a free-for-all with this beautiful drink, I'll be the last one standing."

It was not addressed to him directly, but across the cargo hold Korso yelled back, "You're on, Preed!"

Perhaps it was her way of dealing with the fact that Preed was stealing her spotlight; that Preed (that lazy ass) was actually the hero. Because, against all her character, she placed her pistol aside and said:

"I bet you won't."

"Hey hold on –"

She told me not to intervene.

"Come on, Stith. This is just for fun." I could see something like resolve in her eyes then. "And if you lose, Preed – you'll be taking all my shifts from now till we reach D'Amarama."

"Deal." He said. "And if I win –"

And they started, conveniently leaving me out of that petty competition.

* * *

For a moment, I'm starting to think that everyone who has ever set foot on the _Valkyrie_ is maniac-compulsive-obsessed in one way or another.

The more I think about it, the more it seems true. Korso is obsessed with making money and ripping as many people off as possible. Gune is unbearing-ly absorbed with all his science nonsense. Akima is obsessed with surviving. Cale is obsessed with Akima. And Preed is obsessed with satisfying himself.

Stuck in a small fighter craft with five crewmembers who are on the verge of either psychological or emotional breakdown for months on end, when almost every day someone was quarreling with someone. Korso with Preed; Akima with Korso; Gune with Preed; and the occasionally spat between me and Preed. In between the resentment and the inflated egos of everyone, there were some flashes of brilliance: Preed's saving grace during that firefight, Akima's innocent redeeming girlishness, Korso's discipline and courage in the face of imminent failure and Gune's stubborn faith in the aesthetics of things we could not see, nor understand.

Yet, most of the time all those sparkling mementoes which should be apt for a roster of so-called heroes are, in reality, a mess of bad incidents and accidents: Korso's exaggerated and denigrating way of displaying his masculinity, Gune's isolationism from the rest of us for days on end, Akima's arbitrary ruthlessness in battle and Preed's attitude towards life – which made him nothing more than a walking plague upon the universe. When Cale came, I suppose we all put on a show of orderliness, before we started to realise that here was another one competing for Akima's attention, who turned out, between his short stay, to be like a little puppy: always looking for authority to come down and whack his lost sense of self.

Somehow, I wonder how I endured all this. How I, spared insanity, scrutiny and caricature because I am the writer of this subjective past, managed to emerge unscathed enough to write about all of them eleven years later.

The thought unnerves me.

* * *

This next portion might be hard to believe.

For some reason which only either nature or a Superior Power can explain, the human body is ill-equipped to handle large quantities of alcohol-like fluids. First blood circulation improves, then intoxication, stupour, complete paralysis and finally death sets in. This Ishaq told me, stating clearly one of the few reasons why, apart from religion, he refuses to touch any drink.

Which made me look at this stupid bet as just plain stupid.

Everyone lasted very long. Korso was into his fifteenth intake. Unlike Akima, he drank straight from the canister, cylinder, or bottle, and insisted at every round at proposing a toast to Preed. By his fifteenth shot, he was smashed. He could hardly stand. He could hardly lift his arm to bring the foul smelling thing to his lips. So when he collapsed into a puddle of the substance, I tried to suppress my overt concern to focus instead on the remaining two.

So Akima had actually outlasted Korso in a drinking duel.

But Preed had the advantage: alcohol doesn't have the same intoxicating effect on Akrennians apparently, because after twenty-four shots he could still flash a devious, cruel little smile as Akima retched all over the makeshift table of busted crates.

"Is that your signal to me that you're giving up?" he sneered.

Her face stung red with resolution or complete intoxication: "Screw that – pour me one more –"

At twenty-seven I went over to prop Akima up. But she flung me off her. At twenty-eight she threw up again. And at twenty-nine she finally seemed to be unable to continue. She fell off her perch and flopped to the ground, her mug of alcohol crashing and bouncing to a halt beside her.

Preed got up and stretched. He grinned at me.

"Looks like today's my lucky day," he mouthed.

I watched him. He threw the remnants of his drink aside; the cargo bay now looked as if there had been a deadly shootout and all our supplies were ruined, with two humans lying spread-eagled on the floor. I watched him well. But when he trooped over to Akima with that great, lulled swagger – when he sat down and then propped Akima's head on his knee – when he started to unzip his jeans –

"What the _fuck_ are you doing Preed?"

He turned back at me, as if he had done nothing wrong.

"Just claiming the bet, and making sure Akima keeps her side of it."

"You are NOT going to do that."

"Yes, I am. As I said, today's my lucky day. First a good gunfight. Now for some fun eh, Stith?"

And then when he began trying to tug off Akima's leather jeans I knew I couldn't just stand there. So I drew my rifle and jabbed it into his back.

"Come on, Stith. Today we're _supposed_ to celebrate," his voice sounded whiny, almost pleading. "It's just this once. And she needs it anyway. Think of it as a therapeutic fuck."

I spat. "I think you need to shut up, Preed."

"Anyway, you're not going to shoot your beloved –"

So I shot the unopened crate beside him to pieces and then shot those pieces to even smaller pieces, just to convince him.

"Hey – HEY!"

I remembered myself saying: "I would like you to back away from Akima."

"Loosen up, will you?"

"I don't want to repeat what I said."

"Damn, _you_ need a fuck yourself –"

We were all a _little_ high, screwed left-right-centre with liquor. If there is another addendum to this story, then it should be known that my species is unable to handle this kind of alcohol at all. It does not make me tipsy, but moody. So when I shot Preed at his head at point-blank-range, I was still clear-headed. I was just a little off my usual mood.

I remember Preed screaming as he tried to hold his brains in place ("Fuck fuck FUCK!") and then scrambling to his feet to stare at me in disbelief ("You shot me? You shot me! You shit!). But I stepped over Akima, who had not moved a muscle during all the melodrama, and warned him to stay away.

"This is MUTINY!" he bellowed.

"Then wait till Korso hears of what you tried to do to Akima," I retorted, but added shortly later: "Without her consent."

"What the hell is that supposed to mean?" he said.

By now the blood was adding an extra hue of rainbow colour to all the spilled liquor in the cargo bay. But Preed, looking at his movements, was in no hurry to lose consciousness. I cannot recall if the shot grazed or hit his head straight.

"It means," I loaded the gun, again, "all of you were so drunk I had to assume command of the ship."

And I stalked up to him, and put him to sleep with the butt of the rifle.

* * *

The metal plate on Preed's head was welded in by Gune later, when everyone was sober enough to pick themselves up. When Korso demanded what the hell had happened to Preed, the reply was:

"Got drunk. Hit my head on the floor."

So official version of events stayed that way. Over time, of course, Akima would ask me what was the conclusion of that (stupid) bet with Preed and I would tell her the whole story. An uneasy alliance remained for the rest of the time on the _Valkyrie_: Preed never got back at me (at least in my knowledge), Akima never confronted Preed (at my insistence), and Preed and I dealt with each other like as much as we tolerated each other. Which perhaps gave rise to the (stupid) portrayal of us in most of the memoirs as two sides of a quarrelling couple.

But after everything, after the formation of New Earth, after we had landed the _Titan_ safely on the planet, after the drifters began to return – Preed still found a way to linger on: his corpse, not disposed, sprawled on the main deck on the ship.

There were just two of us left – Gune and I – since Akima and Cale had ventured out to see to the drifters and to be the first heroes humans would see on the new planet. We docked the ship, and returned to the Titan so that Gune to take a look at all the equipment he had longed to see. And there, on the main deck, conveniently forgotten by Cale and Akima in the rush of their cinematic victory, lay Preed's corpse. His neck plunging out beyond his shoulder blades, his eyes white and leaking.

Gune looked at it. Then at me:

"Is that –"

"Yes."

"So he's –"

"Yeah."

"And we –"

"Unfortunately we have to."

We told Cale and Akima later, of course, but for the sake of the moment, Gune and I fetched his twisted corpse in a trash bag back to the _Valkyrie_. On the pretense of guiding drifter ships to New Earth, we let loose the black sack into space. I recall it drifting away. But at the time, really, neither Gune or I had enough patience to bother.

.

.

**10.12.2009**

* * *

**NOTES:** _This is a random update! Felt that the story is getting too long but didn't have a chapter on Preed. So here it is! _

_I think prolonging this story for so long is doing 2 good things: it's helping me to appreciate Titan A.E more, & it's benefitting my change in style._

_I don't know when the next update will be. But I promise this will end soon: I have 3 chapters planned, maximum. One will be for Gune. _

_Thanks for reading :)_


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